With a sigh and as few details as possible, Nick told his rapt audience about Harriet and their search for hidden treasure. By the time he finished, the bottle was empty, having been split four ways. He considered calling for another.
Alistair chuckled. “The hidden treasure turned out to be a horse named Hidden Treasure?” He laughed again.
“She climbed the rigging to work in the foretop?” Tony looked a bit green.
“Not everyone gets seasick like you.” Nick patted Tony on the arm. Tony smacked him on the shoulder with the back of his hand.
“Well, now your questions about our wives make sense,” Alistair said.
“The only question that remains,” Sinclair said with the condescending superiority that came from having five years more maturity than the other three, “is to determine if you fell in love with the proper and demure Miss Chase you met in London, or the self-assured and independent Harry who sailed home from Portugal.”
Nick suddenly had trouble breathing. Perhaps he should see Norton about it. He hadn’t said he loved Harriet. Not to these men, not to her. Not even to himself.
“I think I know the answer,” Tony said much too brightly.
“I have a theory as well,” Alistair chimed in.
Nick groaned and buried his face in his arms again.
“There, there, lad,” Sinclair said, patting Nick’s shoulder.
Nick mumbled.
“What’s that?”
Nick lifted his head high enough to prop his chin on his arm. “I said, it doesn’t matter. She already told me to bugger off.” He sat up, trying to save a shred of dignity. “I proposed, and she said we wouldn’t suit.”
“After all that you went through together?” Sinclair sounded incredulous. “On what grounds?”
Nick thought back to the wonderful, awful interlude they’d had in the hold. “All I did was say how nice it would be to come home to her when I return from voyages. Move her mother here to Langston Hall so she wouldn’t be lonely while I’m gone.”
Alistair made a snort of disgust. “You took her on an adventure to exotic lands, taught her how to sail, and you thought she’d then be content to sit at home in England and wait for you while you go to sea?”
“As my mother would say,” Sinclair said blandly, “you’re an idiot.”
Nick winced. Wanting to keep Harriet safe had seemed reasonable. Logical.
Alistair’s brows rose. “You took no for an answer? Just like that?”
“If a lady says no to a kiss, you have to respect that,” Tony said. Alistair waved his hand back and forth in an “of course” gesture. “But if it’s because you botched your proposal, that’s another matter entirely,” Tony finished.
Nick narrowed his eyes. “And you should know from botched proposals.”
“Oi, I made it right!” Tony cast a glance at Sylvia, his smile turning gentle. “It just took me a second try to make sure she knew I was asking her to be my wife, not my mistress.”
Gah. Nick looked over the assembled crowd. The laughing, happy crowd. Eating, dancing, chatting. Couples strolling arm in arm.
He squeezed his eyes shut. Thought about never seeing Harriet again, holding her, never hearing her laugh. There was that knife-in-the-chest sensation again.
He was confident she no longer planned to marry Sir What’s-His-Name the farmer, so Nick wasn’t jealous of another man. What was she going to do instead?
It didn’t matter, so long as she did it with Nick. Side by side.
He sat up straight. The treasure he’d found on their voyage to Spain and Portugal wasn’t the horse, or peace with his past. It was Harriet.
His chest loosened and he was finally able to inhale a deep breath. “Zach has her direction. First thing in the morning, I’ll ride to Brixham and win her back.” He’d go now, but the sun was already so low in the sky, it would soon be dark enough for Chang to set off fireworks. Arriving late at night covered with mud from a mad cross-country dash would not curry favor with his bride or future mother-in-law.
Alistair slapped his palm on the table. “Yes!”
